


The Baron's Aides

by Sunnyrea



Series: The War [20]
Category: 18th Century CE RPF, American Revolution RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, Historical, M/M, Period Typical Attitudes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2018-03-17
Packaged: 2019-04-03 18:26:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14001945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunnyrea/pseuds/Sunnyrea
Summary: Laurens and Hamilton are requested to help Benjamin Walker and William North with a project of Baron von Steuben's, but the request may be more than that, an opportunity for the two pairs of men to learn and understand more about each other.





	The Baron's Aides

Late May falls over Valley Forge and the Continental Army as a welcome relief from the murderous winter cold, which claimed so much of their force. Now, however, the snow thawed weeks back and the warmth of spring stirs those men who remain back to life. For those lost, they are at least spared the soon resumption of battle. John Laurens, aide-de-camp to General George Washington, however, favors the return of the spring and the fight just as much.

“The British retreat still from Philadelphia,” Robert Hanson Harrison says as Laurens walks into the busy office at General Washington’s headquarters.

“You heard of the –” Tench Tilghman starts but Harrison quickly hands him a stack of paper making him ‘oof’ into the completion of his sentence.

“Yes, Lafayette’s spying became a battle instead.”

“I have seen their return,” Laurens says as he crosses around the table toward Alexander Hamilton where he pulls books down from the inset shelves. “There were few lost or injured.”

“The Marquis has proven to be quite the General,” Hamilton says with a smile as Laurens bumps his shoulder.

“Yet it was something of a retreat,” James McHenry says. Laurens turns to snap at him but McHenry continues speaking as he exits the room into the hall toward the General's office. “Encircled on three sides and still evading the British force, I call that a skill.”

Laurens bites back any condemnation, McHenry having absolved himself through praise of Lafayette. Indeed Lafayette was most adept at avoiding his men’s capture as well as learning of the British movements away from Philadelphia.

“We shall regain the city,” Hamilton says as Laurens turns back around to the shelves. “The British have always favored New York and to hold both cities...”

Laurens drops a ledger onto the table. “Or perhaps they simply do not wish to fight for it. They know we should do so if they hold it into the summer.”

Hamilton chuckles, his fingers brushing over Laurens’ as they reach for books on the same shelf. Laurens flutters his fingers over Hamilton’s and pulls the books down himself. He hears Hamilton chuckle as Laurens turns and puts the law books into one of the waiting crates in the middle of the room.

“Fortunate for us all not to fight within the city proper. ” Tilghman looks into an unpacked crate for ink to aid in his stack of orders from Harrison. “I should imagine battle among buildings such as that a more harrowing experience and wrought with civilians.”

“Might do them good,” Harrison says as he sits at the table once more, sidling a sheet of blank paper across the table. “If they could not find empathy enough to aid our winter purgatory then perhaps the flying of bullets would open their eyes to the truth of our charge.”

Tilghman makes a chastising sound. “Harrison, you would not say so were your own daughters within Philadelphia.” Tilghman weaves around the crates and finds a fresh quill. “Can women and children be party to such violence? Is it not our duty to spare them such?”

Laurens and Hamilton give each other a look as Hamilton hands the last two books from the shelves off to Laurens.

Harrison sighs and rubs at his forehead. “You speak the right, Tilghman. I am simply fatigued. With such a slower pace for us during our winter months this resumption of spring and the imminent movement of camp cause my heads such pains.”

Tilghman makes a sort of cooing noise as he sits at the opposite table behind his stack of papers. “And we would only wish to ease our dear old secretary such pain by taking the lion’s share of the work.”

“Then perhaps Hamilton should write too,” Laurens jokes. “He being the little lion.”

Hamilton chuckles as he bends low and pushes at the crate. “Watch your words or this lion shall bite.”

Tilghman snorts loudly and Harrison laughs, despite himself. Laurens crouches down to help Hamilton push the crate and hide his blush. He shoots Hamilton a look, just catching Hamilton’s devilish smile. The warm weather clearly brings out the daring and flirty side of Hamilton’s character. Laurens cannot say he minds such.

McHenry walks back into the office, half jumping out of the way as Laurens and Hamilton push the full crate out into the hall.

“You might warn a man of your progress,” McHenry snips as he trips into seat across from Harrison.

Laurens purses his lips blandly at Hamilton as a response. 

Hamilton stands up straight, a smile still on his face and a wink at Laurens. “But then we would not keep you so ready on your toes. Do you not need a reminder of the patriot side with so long under guard?”

Laurens sees McHenry’s face fall somewhat as Laurens stands. Hamilton quickly holds up his hand in supplication. “I mean no offense, McHenry, my apologies. I should not wish British capture upon any man.”

McHenry shakes his head. “No, you should not.”

Laurens clears his throat and smiles as he draws the pair’s attention. “And now you may attend to more pleasing matters such as the orders I assume you bring from the General?”

McHenry grins at Laurens, Laurens feeling somewhat unsettled by the reaction, and taps his finger on the papers before him. “Far too many for myself alone, indeed, most concerning matters of camp as you may expect.”

“I can believe it with our house here alone,” Hamilton says, picking up one sheet from in front of McHenry, reading as he speaks. “With the correspondence we have amassed, we shall need several crates for the paper alone.”

Harrison takes a few of the pages from McHenry. “We must also manage new provisions for our march. The British may well loot Philadelphia for all they can upon their retreat.”

“But it is spring now,” Tilghman says into his writing. “We can be expectant of new growth and perhaps rush the British off before they may take all.”

“Indeed,” Laurens says, “though we must engage them before New York.”

“Yes, yes,” Hamilton says laying a hand on Laurens arm to turn him away from Tilghman toward himself. “I know you ache so for battle once more but you cannot plan the war yourself, dear Laurens.”

Laurens presses his lips tightly together to keep himself in check. Hamilton smiles back at him, his hand still on Laurens’ arm. Laurens thinks how fine it would be to hold Hamilton close now in the sunlight, a kiss to his brow and stop all his teasing words.

Behind Laurens, the front door opens and closes again. Hamilton’s hand falls and Laurens turns to see Caleb Gibbs and Richard Kidder Meade removing their hats.

“Ah, progress,” Gibbs exclaims as he looks down at the crate of books. “So many law books and ledgers for my men to drag. What a present.”

Meade chuckles as he navigates through the ordered chaos. “The horses shall no doubt protest more than your men.”

“Speak as you know, Meade,” Gibbs says. “The horses have some weight on us to benefit them.”

Meade makes a face. “Do they now? Are horses such large creatures to best our Gibbs?”

Tilghman chuckles. “I wonder sometimes at your jokes, Meade.”

Meade smiles as he sits beside Tilghman. “As do I. Perhaps I should work harder for my subject matter.”

“Or forgo the practice,” Harrison says with a stern look.

“Harrison,” Tilghman chides just as Hamilton says, “you do not mean so,” and Gibbs laughs out a, “you would try and stop him?”

Harrison’s fatherly hold breaks and he smiles. “I concede.”

“But perhaps the humor can be forgone in place of writing and copying the General’s orders,” McHenry interjects.

“And so they do,” Laurens says tersely, moving to sit near Harrison.

However, before he may sit, Gibbs makes a tutting noise. “Do not make yourself comfortable, Laurens, you have a guest waiting for you.”

Laurens frowns, Hamilton shifting nearer him. “For myself?”

Gibbs points between Laurens and Hamilton. “Both.”

Laurens and Hamilton look at each other then exit the aide office together, careful of crates, around Gibbs. Laurens opens the front door first and spies William North waiting at the base of the steps. Benjamin Walker stands beside North facing the other direction. Walker turns as Laurens descends the stairs.

“Good morning,” Walker says as Laurens and Hamilton stop before them. Hamilton still on the bottom step of the house so he stands taller than Laurens for once. “We have come at the baron’s behest to enlist your assistance for the day if you are amenable?”

“And what might that assistance be?” Hamilton asks.

“It still lies in writing,” North explains, shifting so his shoulder brushes Walker’s.

Walker shifts to the side so he knocks North back, the two swaying slightly like a pair of turtle doves. 

“Shall I ask the General to spare you?” Walker asks.

“We have no time for games if you should think –” Laurens starts.

North frowns and interrupts. “And nor do we, it is true work that requires both your pens and your French. Do you doubt our sincerity?”

“Perhaps I do not know you at your best yet,” Laurens remarks dryly.

North swallows visibly, shooting a look at Walker. 

Hamilton grips Laurens’ shoulder. “Laurens...”

Laurens only glances to the side.

Walker clears his throat. “Might I see the General?”

Hamilton steps off the stairs and gestures upward for Walker. “I shall see you in.”

Walker follows Hamilton inside leaving Laurens and North alone. The pair stare at each other in silence.  
A trio of privates pass by them. Laurens recognizes them from the Life Guard and hears Gibbs exclaiming about something as they climb the steps behind Laurens.

North finally clears his throat and stands up taller. “It has been some weeks since our last encounter.”

“Near two months,” Laurens amends, remembering an office and North leaning too close to Hamilton.

North nods and clears his throat again. “Perhaps I recommended myself ill for a first meeting. I must confess I cannot acclaim myself often when stronger sprits may be involved. My constitution does not take well to it.” 

Laurens purses his lips. “I see.”

“I cannot also claim to be the only man at the Baron’s gathering worse for their consumption.” North smiles awkwardly. “I would imagine you can agree upon that?”

“Yes.”

“Yet… I would not have you think me some frivolous rake,” North says in a rush.

Laurens’ eyes widen slightly and he looks around sharply for any who may overhear. “Captain North... I would not...”

“Simply I wish you to know,” North’s voice drops low at Laurens’ unease. “That such behavior of then is not my usual. I think perhaps I was taken up by the gathering and the... well the...”

North’s eyes wander and Laurens recognizes the expression as one of his own. He speaks quietly, not quite looking at North. “The freedom of self allowed?”

North looks up at Laurens sharply drawing Laurens’ eye again. “Yes.”

Laurens feels some of the animosity he gained toward this man leave his chest. He wonders if it is not the same as when he first met Von Steuben himself, misunderstanding and misdirection. North smiles in an odd way, something like fear perhaps. Laurens finds some mixture of pride and regret that he might engender such.

“I did not... that is... your Hamilton. I did not intend –”

“I understand you,” Laurens interrupts, feeling far too exposed and too close to his Excellency for such a conversation. “You need not explain more.”

North smiles cautiously. “I see.”

Laurens clicks his teeth and clasps his hands behind his back. “I trust we are clear with each other and I would hope your discretion is as implicit as the Baron’s despite what you call your past behavior.”

North’s jaw clenches. “Yes.”

“And ‘my Hamilton,’ as you say....”

“Yes.”

“I should prefer you not to refer to him as such.”

“I...”

“At least not in such public a way as this.”

North glances around quickly. “We are alone.”

Laurens sighs. “North, we are in the army.”

North nods. “Of course. As you wish, but I may also add you have no worry to be found with me.” Laurens only frowns in reply. “I am no threat to you and yours.” North continues.

“I do not understand you, sir.”

Then Laurens hears the sound of the door behind him opening once more, Walker’s voice saying, “... but a day may be help enough I hope.”

North’s eyes slide instantly around Laurens to the men behind him. Laurens turns to watch them descend.

“Just how many copies should he wish?” Hamilton asks Walker. “Could we not commandeer a printing press?”

“We are not in Philadelphia yet and there must be copies enough to send.”

“Four perhaps?” Hamilton says glancing among their circle now.

“I should hope for one at the start.”

North smiles at Walker as he slides up beside North once more. Walker turns to North, an answering smile on his face. Laurens understands now. 

Hamilton stands beside Laurens and holds out Laurens’ hat, his own secure on his head. Laurens takes his hat and places it on his head. Laurens wonders if North sees his own smile mirrored on Laurens' face now.

“Shall we?” Hamilton asks gesturing on the path toward Baron von Steuben’s headquarters.

Walker nods and leads off, Hamilton following. Laurens and North look at each other quickly.

“It would appear we have gained our aim.”

Laurens cocks his head at North as they follow. “Which was what?”

“Transcribing,” Walker says over his shoulder.

“Of a kind,” Hamilton adds.

Laurens looks at North for more of an answer.

“The Baron has been at the task of writing his training protocol into book form so it might be better disseminated throughout our entire force,” North explains. “Now it is complete and the army is to move soon, battle to begin and his knowledge can be used to much advantage if we can send it to our other Generals.”

“And it needs translation and repetition?”

North nods at Laurens. “Just so.”

“Hence why I should prefer a printing press,” Hamilton says turning and walking backward for a moment before shifting back around as Walker grabs his arm around a dip in the ground. “I would prefer not to copy a book, no matter the length, a hundred times over.”

“We only need copies for first distribution. Once we make Philadelphia, a printing press will well replace our hands,” Walker says. “And watch where you walk.”

Hamilton chuckles. “I have no fear of ditches.”

“You should,” North and Laurens say together, looking at each other in surprise.

Walker and Hamilton both chuckle now. Laurens wishes to remain guarded among near strangers but he cannot help a smile at the sound of Hamilton’s laughter.

 

It takes them little time to arrive at the Baron’s headquarters, longer and wider than General Washington’s but not quite so tall. A few soldiers move about in front of the house, an empty wagon waiting to one side. Laurens hears a barking and sees the Baron’s dog come around a corner of the house. It is a medium sized dog, something like a Greyhound but Laurens in unsure of the breed.

Laurens hears a shout. “Hör auf, du verdammter Hund!”

Walker snorts once.

Then the dog reaches Laurens’ feet, tail wagging in some kind of expectation. Laurens crouches low and scratches the dog being the ears. “Hello,” he says quietly.

The dog pants, shifting around but otherwise behaving remarkably well as dogs may be. Laurens wonders at its occupation here among the army. They are certainly not out hunting with it nor herding any sheep. Perhaps pet alone is its role. The dog licks once at Laurens’ hand as he scratches under the dog’s chin. 

“Ah ha.” Laurens laughs once quietly and wipes the dog’s own salvia back onto its head. “Have that then.”

Laurens looks up as he hears the sound of running feet slowing behind the dog. He then sees Du Ponceau breathing fast. “Dieser Hund...”

“Give you a chase?”

Walker laughs once more as Du Ponceau shakes his head looking harangued. Laurens turns his head toward the others and sees Hamilton watching him, a small smile on his face. Laurens stands up straight again as Du Ponceau loops a lead around the dog’s neck and encourages it back toward the rear of the house.

“Welcome!” Du Ponceau calls over his shoulder as the pair of privates from the front of the house pass hauling a crate between them.

“I know the Baron loves the dog,” North begins, “but it may be the death of poor Stephen.”

Walker laughs for the third time and Laurens wonders wildly at Du Ponceau forced into chasing a dog about all of Valley Forge.

“He shall survive well enough,” Walker says finally. “Shall we inside?”

Walker leads them through the front door and into the house, magnanimously taking all their hats. Laurens spies North’s hand lingering over Walker’s as he passes his own hat away to Walker. Laurens wonders if others notice what he does. Do they think what Laurens may at such subtle interactions? He wonders what North should notice between Hamilton and himself.

“Is Du Ponceu not joining our writing?” Hamilton asks as Walker leads them down the hall to the back office.

“Someone must manage the packing and moving of the Baron’s affairs. “

“And how did you escape such?” Laurens quips.

Walker stops and tilts his head. “You think that worse?”

Laurens makes a face but Hamilton answers with a jovial tone. “Writing preferable to chasing dogs?”

Walker smiles slowly back. “Just the one.”

The four of them file into the office, North closing the door behind them. The door to the parlor is closed as well allowing them some privacy from the various soldiers coming in and out of the house. The room is set more as their own aide office with one table and three chairs as well as a more polished desk beside the window. Laurens remembers that desk from the party thrown by the Baron. The working tables were not in the room at the time of the Baron’s gathering, then in favor of plush chairs. The office appears much more as an office now. 

Laurens spies various stacks of paper on the table, two bound individually by twine. “The book?” Laurens asks.

“Yes,” Walker explains. “We have begun translating the French which the Baron wrote into English however it is not merely a short letter but an entire book.”

“Something which could benefit from more hands in the writing,” Hamilton says. 

“And ones who may translate French,” Laurens adds.

“Quite so.”

“But what hosts are we?” North says turning around again. “We have but three chairs for four.”

Hamilton opens his mouth but shuts it again quickly. He shoots Laurens a look and shakes his head with a smile. Laurens only raises his eyebrow guessing at any manner of jest that Hamilton might have spoken. He is in good spirits today and Laurens cannot find fault with such a world for it.

“I shall be but a moment,” North says as he opens the door to the parlor.

Walker gestures to the table, taking a seat. Hamilton follows and Walker hands him one bound stack as he sits. Laurens hovers for a moment, watching Walker. He wants to ask about North, about the Baron, about this whole household. He thought he knew the relations between them all but what did he really know? Relations between men are not as those with women. How should four men behave whom Laurens knows enough of to imagine what a tangled web it may be? In truth, it is no business of Laurens’ and the less they know of each other’s private habits the safer they may be. Knowledge of interest and taste is enough to enjoy at least a small level of comradery of a kind, if Laurens allows such. The Baron has already proved himself their champion and promised protection, if it should be needed. It alarms Laurens as much as it comforts him.

“Sit, Laurens,” Hamilton says suddenly breaking into Laurens’ thoughts. “You need not play the gentleman. It is North who goes to bring a chair, it may as well be his own.”

Laurens smiles and sits in the available seat beside Hamilton. “As you say.”

Laurens shifts the large bound pages around. He sees headings with chapter numbers. “Chapters?”

Walker gestures over the table at large. “We are divining up by chapter and may do so with you. Some chapters are far less than others but we would prefer at least one English copy to be complete before we leave Valley Forge.”

Hamilton makes a ‘tch’ noise. “In two different hands?”

“Four hands now,” Laurens cuts in.

Walker only nods. “Well, as you mentioned, a printing press shall be our final point. It need not be a formal copy when finished. Simply that it be English.”

“And where should you wish us?” Laurens asks.

“Your stack, which Hamilton has, is the second half, so you may start from the end and move forward.”

Hamilton frowns. “You do not fear a muddle with such organization at that?”

“There are numbers to each chapters,” North says as he returns with a chair in hand, “Walker and I have made such progress so far with an eye to the chapter numbers and not failed yet.”

“And the pages themselves are numbered,” Walker adds, “should one page become misplaced.”

“What if we should out pace you?” Hamilton says with a grin as he unties the twine from around their stack of paper. “The end complete before the beginning?”

North and Walker laugh at the same time. 

“We should award you a medal,” Walker says.

“Count the pages and attempt to surpass us,” North says. “This is not our first day at this work.”

Laurens flips through the French for a moment, noticing a few diagrams among the words. “I would call it a blessing now that the Baron may at least write in French.”

“Ha yes,” Walker says. “Should we need to translate the German to English you would be of little help or if we were to translate it to French so you might then translate it once more into English.”

Hamilton snorts and shakes his head.

“A muddle of languages we need not attempt,” Laurens says.

Walker and North makes noises of assent.

Hamilton glances at Laurens as he picks up a quill. He hands it to Laurens then takes another of his own. “Shall I race you?”

Laurens raises an eyebrow. “I do believe I need not bother, as I know the outcome.”

Hamilton’s smile grows. “You flatter me.”

“I know your skill.”

Laurens sees North smile into his paper out of the corner of his eye and Walker shoot North a look. 

Hamilton laughs once quietly, dipping his quill in ink. “Well, then I accept my early victory and begin.”

Laurens twists his quill in his hand for a moment, watching Hamilton as he beings to write, his eyes glancing quickly to the stack between them every few words. Laurens purses his lips then dips his own quill in the ink pot, taking a few chapters underneath Hamilton's to start with. He glances over at the title on the cover page near North's hand, _Regulations for the Order and Discipline of the Troops of the United States_. Laurens looks at the last two words, ‘United States,’ and feels a rush of pride in his chest, at something near unbelievable but indisputable now. 

He whispers, “Just so.”

The quartet spend the next several hours writing in near silence but for the occasional rustle of pages, scratch of quill and request for unreachable tools somewhere across the table. Laurens finishes chapter fifteen ‘Of the baggage of a march’ then chapter sixteen, ‘The Manner of laying out a Camp, with the Order of Encampment.’ He has flashes of the reorganization of Valley Forge from when the Baron first arrived. As they work, he feels Hamilton’s knee near his under the table, knocking against his now and then as Hamilton shifts about. Laurens wonders if their compatriots mirror them on the other side of the table. He has an odd urge to peek below and find out.

After some time writing, only broken by the shift of papers and the occasional comment on the manual’s content, Du Ponceau opens the door to the office rapping loudly on the wood. “Bonjour. Eh, the Baron is to meet General Washington.”

“Now?” Walker asks.

“Ja.”

All four aides begin to stand from the table but Du Ponceau raises his hands. “No, no, you stay.”

“The Baron will need –” North begins but Du Ponceau puts a finger on North’s nose so North stops abruptly.

“No.” Du Ponceau grins pulling his finger back and wagging it. “My English much better.”

“It has certainly improved,” Hamilton compliments as he and Laurens sit once more.

Du Ponceau smiles at the praise. “And you stay.” He gestures to Laurens and Hamilton. “Lieutenant Colonel Tilghman, he has French. So, good.”

“Yes,” Laurens replies. “He was still there when we left and should aid you well if your English fails you.”

Du Ponceau nods again though Laurens wonders how much of what he said was fully comprehended. 

“The, eh... préparations pour la maison finished now.”

“If anything else should come up we shall listen for the door,” Walker says, “and tell any who may ask where to find you and the Baron.”

“Je vous remercie.” Du Ponceau gestures a goodbye with his hat then turns out of the door again, closing it behind him.

“The preparations are done? For but the day, I imagine, not on the whole?” Laurens asks.

Walker nods as he blots the words on his page. “Yes. The Baron prefers to be present for the packing and organizing of his headquarters.”

“He prefers things just so,” North adds.

“I have no doubt,” Laurens retorts.

Hamilton taps his foot against Laurens’. Laurens glances at him and Hamilton gives him a warning look. Laurens only raises his eyebrows; he meant no disrespect.

They return to their writing as Laurens hears the Baron’s voice in the hall. Walker and North both turn their heads at the sound but none knock upon the door nor do either of the men stand to bid any farewell to the Baron. Laurens hears the front door close in the distance and the house seems suddenly bereft of life but their own room.

“I think perhaps we could partake of some tea,” Walker says. “Or even brandy?”

Laurens and Hamilton frown at the same time. 

“You perceive now as an after dinner repass?” Hamilton asks with some scorn evident in his tone.

“It is come tea time now,” Walker replies, flipping a pocket watch open and closed quickly from out of his jacket pocket, “late enough and we only writing.”

“Writing of an entire book, which you informed us needed completion,” Hamilton counters back.

“It is fine to take some time,” Walker says, “we need not finish today.”

Laurens frowns. “You had seemed to be of concern for the project finishing.” Walker and North look at each other quickly then back to Laurens. Laurens feels much like a youth in school with some plot afoot. “You are not of concern?”

Walker shrugs once. “The Baron and we have time.”

Hamilton puts his quill down. “Speak as you mean.”

North taps his quill on a blotting paper. “We do indeed need your help but we... well...”

Walker sighs. “William means to say, we wished your presence in some way that was not a formal, or informal as it was, festivity or a shouting match between our superiors. This book needs copying and why not the four of us in a more relaxed and congenial setting.”

Laurens scoffs. “Would you have wished to invite us to tea?”

North smiles. “I may make tea.”

“Or brandy,” Walker adds.

Laurens blinks at the pair. He realizes rather abruptly, and not without a modicum of discomfort, that the two of them wish to become friends of himself and Hamilton.

“I cannot imagine what you play at now,” Hamilton huffs, evidently missing the signs Laurens sees. “Do you think we have not many duties which could be far better served with his Excellency now than us here at some task only half needed and –”

Laurens puts his hand on Hamilton’s arm so he suddenly stops talking. “Alexander.” Hamilton looks at him sharply with confusion. “It is but a day.”

“Yes, but –”

“No.”

“Laurens.”

“We are here now. You have no doubt told his Excellency we are to be at task here for this whole day. Would you draw suspicion to Walker and North at your return so soon?”

Hamilton stares at Laurens then shuts his mouth so his teeth click. “I... should think...”

“You should stay where you are and allow Walker his hospitality toward us, Hamilton.”

Hamilton looks at Walker who smiles back then to Laurens once more. “I see.”

“The parlor then!” North says so both Laurens and Hamilton look to him.

“The parlor?” Hamilton says.

“Yes, tea would be far better on its own table and we can enjoy more comfortable chairs.”

“Why should we need comfort for our work?” Hamilton hisses.

Laurens sighs. “Hamilton, they wish for some conversation and levity in this moment.”

“I understand this,” Hamilton says, “but I cannot think it wise.”

“Oh, Hamilton,” Walker chides. “Your work ethic may wear you down too far at such behavior. Allow yourself an hour at least and I swear we shall return to our task with all the more fervor and dedication. Can you agree?”

After a breath, Hamilton nods once. “But we should bring the work with us, yes, we can do both?”

Walker chuckles. “Fine then.” 

The four men rise from the table. Hamilton picking up the stack of uncopied chapters and handing quills to Laurens.

“I shall endeavor to find us some tea,” Walker says. “If you will be so good as to move our writing to the parlor.”

“We shall,” Laurens replies.

“I shall accompany you,” North says to Walker, crossing to the door then holding it open for Walker.

Once the two men disappear out into the hall, Hamilton huffs loudly. “I do not understand this at all.”

“Hamilton...”

“Is the Baron’s drill instructions a task or no? Do they bring us here simply for their own amusement? We leave Tilghman, Meade, McHenry and Harrison with more work in our absence.”

“Hamilton...”

“While we are here copying a thing which may not truly be needed? What was their meaning? Is it necessary or no? And if not –”

“Hamilton enough,” Laurens interrupts, gripping Hamilton face with both his hands as Hamilton’s arms are full of paper and pen. “I do believe the Baron’s book a necessity but can you not see their true aim is us?” Hamilton stares at Laurens. “They wish to become friendly with us.”

Hamilton opens his mouth slowly. “Ah.”

“You cannot tell me, the social man you are, that you could not imagine this?”

Hamilton turns his eyes away and Laurens rubs his thumb along Hamilton’s cheek. “I am well aware of social practice, of course, and I have companions enough but I do not understand their mode. It feels a trick.”

Laurens steps closer to Hamilton so Hamilton looks up at him, his fingers twitching on the papers.

“Perhaps they feared to say so truthfully. The army does not always make a man feel at ease.”

Hamilton’s expression softens and he reaches up with one hand full of quills to touch Laurens’ fingers on his face. “No. It does not.”

“So?”

Hamilton smiles slowly. “So I understand.”

Laurens raises his eyebrows and wonders if Hamilton truly does. However, should North and Walker be as Laurens and Hamilton are, it is not Laurens’ place to say such to any other, even Hamilton.

“Well, should we not move our work as you wish, then?”

Hamilton nods. “Yes.”

Laurens pulls his hands away from Hamilton. Hamilton smiles at him, brushes his hip against Laurens’ as he walks around him and uses the exit directly into the parlor. Laurens turns his head to watch Hamilton for a moment. He smiles to himself then picks up more blank pages and ink pots and follows. It takes them three trips to move all of the copies begun and the partitioned portions of the Baron’s book into the parlor from the office, Laurens also searching for something for each of them to lean upon, tables in the parlor being more limited. He finally chooses some ledgers from the Baron’s desk as an alternative. In the parlor, they arrange the blank papers and supplies on some of the small tables, others on the settee. Laurens leaves one table clear for whatever tea or drink the men may return with. Hamilton places all of the Baron’s work on the settee to reorganize for their new seating.

“It is certainly a miracle one of them thought to number each page,” Hamilton says as he sits and sorts the translated pages into order once more.

“And working in the parlor shall not help this organization.”

“It was little better in the office,” Laurens retorts.

Laurens sits on the settee beside Hamilton, picking up the Baron’s original pages to split between them when ready. Hamilton glances at him, shifts closer over the cushion so they sit hip to hip, elbows brushing as they reform their finished stacks on their knees. Hamilton takes his copies and puts them in the opens space beside him on the couch then holds out his hand for Laurens’ finished chapters.

“Ah, but you should you not confuse them then?”

Hamilton only gives Laurens a look. Laurens hands over his copies. Hamilton takes the stack, sits it down next to his own and keeps one hand over Laurens’ on his knee. He then tries to divide portions of the French between himself and Laurens one handed with more difficulty than two hands would cause. Hamilton looks around the room then, their needed tools of writing spread out and themselves surrounded by paper on their seat and person. Laurens sees the frown set in and deepen as Hamilton’s eyes tick over every surface until he sighs. “I surely cannot work here.”

Laurens smiles slowly. “I imagine you could work most anywhere. I have seen you do so bedbound.”

Hamilton’s lip quirks a little. “I have managed under such extenuating circumstances.”

“Mhm.”

“Now is not the same.”

“Hmm?”

“There is a desk but in that room and I am not ill.”

“Oh, yes.”

“And yet we shall work in here?”

“And enjoy tea. One day, Hamilton. Rest your mind and your drive for but one day.”

Hamilton sighs again but Laurens sees much of the fight has left him. “And what if the Baron thinks we work diligently when we are in fact led astray by his own aides?”

“We are not.”

“John...”

“Alexander.”

Hamilton twists his fingers with Laurens’, rubbing his thumb over the back of Laurens’ hand. The two stare at each other for a long moment. Laurens squeezes Hamilton’s hand, thinks about the silence around them. What should they be like without the army, without their work, what should it be like with just a parlor like this? Something clatters far back in the house and they both look away.

Hamilton lets go of Laurens’ hand and picks up the next chapter from Laurens’ lap. “We may not be as stringent in our work but I would at least prefer to read what the Baron has wrote.”

Laurens nods. “Of course.” Then Laurens stands up, handing Hamilton all the French pages, “I shall check upon the state of our tea as it seems our hosts may have found themselves lost.”

Hamilton chuckles as he leans back against the couch, picking up one ledger to lean on then reaching for a quill. Laurens smiles at him then turns and walks from the room. He moves down the hall as he remembers from the Baron’s party back toward the kitchens. He chuckles at the memory of Tilghman with tousled hair and an empty bottle. He finds the kitchen door closed and turns the doorknob. Laurens only opens the door a few inches before he stops.

Within the kitchen, a full tea tray sits on the main table – a white pot with some blue pattern on the side, four cups and saucers of simple china, a sugar bowl, milk – and standing beside the table, North and Walker kissing. Laurens freezes, his lips parted at the sight – Walker’s hands on North’s waist, North fingers along Walker’s neck with one hand, his other buried somewhere in the folds of Walker’s uniform but nothing untoward. No, they only kiss, flush together, eyes closed, quietly and deeply, as though it is still new to them, still precious. 

Laurens feels something seize in his chest and he steps back, easing the door closed as quietly as he may. He cannot explain it but he feels like crying. Laurens breathes in deeply for several breaths calming the flurry of his heart. He realizes he has never seen this before, never men like him, never like this, never such an intimate embrace between men as this. Of course, he has kissed Hamilton, far more than kissed, and other men too. He has been a participant of such things but he has never seen it from without. He has never seen what others would see of him caught in such a moment and his chest pains him so now. Such a sight, such a passion, feels terrifying and divine all at once.

Laurens breathes in through his nose once more before blowing out the breath again slowly. Then Laurens turns and walks back down the hall. He stops when he reaches the parlor doorway. Hamilton sits on the couch, leaned back against the cushions, the papers held up in his hand. He carefully turns a page and lays it down on the stack beside him. The sun streams in through the window so his boots cause shadows over the door. Glints of light catch his hair and the pages shadow his mouth. Laurens thinks about kissing Hamilton. He thinks about a parlor like this in a normal world. He thinks about the freedom to cross the threshold and kiss Hamilton now should he wish. He thinks of North and Walker and wants to ask what it is like for them.

Then Hamilton’s eyes turn to Laurens and Hamilton smiles. “Would you only watch me read?”

Laurens blushes despite himself at Hamilton knowing him standing there lost in his thoughts.

Hamilton picks up the stack beside himself and places it underneath the pages he still reads. “Come sit.”

Laurens walks in and sits beside Hamilton. Hamilton nestles close so Laurens must raises his arm and allow Hamilton space beneath it. Hamilton smiles, rubs his hand over Laurens’ thigh once then returns to the turn of his page. Laurens wants to ask Hamilton how he should know they are safe to act so in this house, in this parlor, but Laurens knows the same. They are safe for this moment here.

“Have we no hosts or tea?” Hamilton asks as Laurens looks down at Hamilton’s hair next to his chin.

“I believe our tea may be some time yet.”

Hamilton peers up to give Laurens a quizzical look. Laurens only shakes his head. He cannot say it aloud. Hamilton makes a ‘hmm’ noise then hands his finished pages to Laurens for his perusal. Laurens smiles, shifts his arm down around Hamilton’s shoulders and puts the pages on his lap so he may read with one hand. 

Laurens could not say how long they sit and quietly read, only the sound of turning pages. Laurens wonders at least once if Walker and North leave them alone on purpose or if himself and Hamilton have been forgotten. Laurens reads on, notes a spot where the Baron slipped back into German, perhaps a word too close between the languages. Laurens turns to ask for a quill to fix the word. Then he looks down at Hamilton and sees his eyes closed, his breath slow. 

Hamilton’s hands lie limp with the pages cradled on his lap as he sleeps. The sun through the window lights his face still, shadows now from his fingers over the papers. He breathes steadily, his face supported against Laurens' chest and shoulder. Laurens thinks he would never move now if it meant such peace on Hamilton's face. 

Laurens reaches down and carefully takes the pages from Hamilton, places them on the settee to Laurens’ right, just enough space between himself and the arm to fit the paper, adding his own to the pile. He searches in his coat pocket for a pencil and fortunately finds one still sharp enough. Laurens reaches to his side table for a blank sheet of paper and one of the ledgers he brought onto his lap for support with the blank sheet over it. He begins to sketch Hamilton.

He has found little time of late to pursue any sort of drawing. In the early days of their acquaintance, Laurens found himself often sketching the line of Hamilton’s hand, his face, his profile, until Hamilton found him out. Since then battles have required Laurens’ sword and winter dulled his senses so he has not put pencil to paper for such pleasures. 

Now, he looks down at the man sleeping under his arm, heavy against him, and draws Hamilton’s half hidden face. He sketches the straight lines of his own uniform matching Hamilton’s, his hip with Hamilton curled into it, the edge of Hamilton’s jaw, the strands of his hair, line after line. He draws a bend of knee beside his own, breeches riding up just enough at his knee, Hamilton’s lips beside a button of Laurens’ jacket, the curl of his eyelashes. The drawing, as it forms, is far too truthful, too intimate that even looking at it Laurens wonders at it being real if he should see it anywhere else; a viewpoint that one could only draw if they sat within the subject. Laurens even sketches his own fingers now wrapped around Hamilton’s shoulder keeping him where he lies, keeping him safe.

“Laurens?” A quiet, familiar voice says.

Laurens turns his head slowly, careful to move only little. Walker stands in the doorway, two teacups in hand. He glances at Hamilton’s sleeping form then back to Laurens’ face. His expression appears guarded for a moment then he smiles at Laurens. He steps into the room and places the two cups and saucers on the low table between all the chairs, which Laurens left free for just this purpose.

“My apologies,” Walker whispers. “Too long for tea.”

Laurens shakes his head gently. “No matter.”

Walker huffs, the sound barely audible. “Half an hour?”

Laurens frowns and looks toward the tall clock in the corner. Indeed, the time has passed more than he marked. He looks back at Walker with raised eyebrows.

Walker shakes his head. “I have no good excuse.”

“Then keep it,” Laurens says.

“I...” Walker begins then his voice drops even softer than before. “I know it is not my place nor... nor proper to ask.”

Laurens jaw clenches and waits. Walker leans back in the chair where he sits. He looks away for a moment, his jaw working back and forth, as he stares out the window. 

“Walker, what would you ask me?” Laurens' voice drops more, guessing at Walker's thoughts. “I do not have answers as you may hope.”

Walker’s eyes slide to Laurens again. “I would ask how you live as this?”

Laurens frowns. “This?”

“This feeling,” Walker says quietly, his eyes drifting, “something so unusual, so required of secrecy. I have not felt this before, not with a man, not indulged such nor had a need but now… now I find myself in a position that is, though pleasing, one outside the norm, behaviors that I must fear censure of, or worse, to partake in, and I cannot understand a life of this kind.” He looks back to Laurens directly. “How do you live with this upon you?”

Laurens breathes out slowly again, feels Hamilton breathing against his chest. Laurens shakes his head. “I have no choice.”

Walker’s face pinches at Laurens words. 

“Perhaps you do,” Laurens adds. “I do not know your mind.”

“Not with him I do not,” Walker whispers.

Laurens smiles a little. He sees North and Walker standing close in his mind, intimate and private.

“I understand you but I cannot help in this,” Laurens replies. Laurens looks away for a moment, wondering further and decides if Walker may begin some boldness in his questions then so may Laurens. He looks to Walker once more. “And what of the Baron?”

Walker frowns. “What of him? You said yourself once, he is above reproach where he stands now and seems at peace with his tastes.”

Laurens shakes his head gently. “I meant as to you and he.”

Walker huffs once with a small smile. He glances away toward the empty fire grate, worrying the edge of his lip. Then he shifts in his chair, sitting up straighter. “I would never have called it such.” He looks back at Laurens. “And if you should think it so then I would call it brief. When North joined the Baron’s office there was a change and the Baron could see this.” Walker smiles again. “Even before I could.”

“I see.”

Walker tilts his head. “Perhaps you do. The Baron is a wonderful man and I think we are more blessed than yourself and Hamilton to be under his roof.”

Laurens nods – thinks of long hours in company and hidden embraces. “I believe in some ways you are.”

“Walker?” North calls from the hall.

Hamilton stirs slightly beside Laurens.

“Walker – Ben?” 

Walker stands up and moves to the parlor entrance. “North?” Walker moves down the hall as he answers North. 

Laurens, however, turns to Hamilton beside him. Hamilton breathes in deeply, his eyes opening. He looks down at his hands, rubbing his fingers together. Then Hamilton looks up at Laurens.

“Hello,” Laurens says quietly.

“Hmm, Jack...” Hamilton shifts so he sits up once more, Laurens’ hand falling low on Hamilton’s back. 

“Did I sleep long?”

Laurens shakes his head. “Not long.”

Hamilton looks down to Laurens’ hand and the paper in his lap. “Long enough.”

Hamilton picks up the drawing Laurens’ began. He stares at it, a smile rising over his cheeks. He hands it back to Laurens.

“You have not drawn me since those first times have you?”

“No.”

“So many times then once I saw them; did you think I found some fault in them?”

“You told me they were beautiful.”

“Perhaps vain to say.”

Laurens laughs once.

“Why did you stop?”

“We are in a war.”

“You found time then.”

“Then I did not have the real man.”

Hamilton turns his head toward Laurens. “Ah.” Hamilton touches Laurens hand over the drawing, runs his fingers down each of Laurens’. “You should draw more, Laurens. It pleases you.”

“Yes, in the time we are afforded of late.”

“We have time now.”

“And so you see I have drawn you.”

Hamilton grins. “Perhaps I will pose next time.”

“I prefer this.”

Hamilton raises his eyebrows. “Me asleep?”

“You not knowing.”

Hamilton smiles again and Laurens feels himself mirroring him. Hamilton presses his fingertips against Laurens’, threading their fingers. “Well... you will have to finish that one at least. You have the start.”

Laurens nods. “I will.”

“Tea!”

Laurens and Hamilton pull apart sharply at the sudden noise from the door, Laurens’ drawing nearly falling to the floor. He slams his hand on it in time to stop all the papers in his lap tumbling down and looks to where North stands in the doorway holding a tea tray. Hamilton sits up again properly with an awkward chuckle. Walker steps into view beside North shaking his head. Laurens tucks his drawing into the crack between the cushion and the arm of the settee, the blank side out. Then he shifts the rest of the papers onto the nearest side table.

“I must apologize,” North says in a rush as he lays the tray on the table, adding the two cups Walker carried to it. “The making of tea should not take nearly so long and leaving you alone here is quite unbecoming of any host and though I know our duty just now lies in the Baron’s drill guide and that tea is not the most –“

“Billy,” Walker hisses, touching his shoulder so North nearly drops a tea cup. “You are well, sit.”

“I may pour the tea first.”

“If you will but why not with less speech or you will be bound to drop each cup.”

North huffs but smiles at Walker, seemingly feeling no reproach. Laurens glances at Hamilton who is now looking around the two of them for the papers he read before his brief respite. Laurens touches Hamilton’s hand so he stops and peers up at Laurens instead. Laurens just shakes his head once and gestures to the tea. North hands Laurens and Hamilton their cups, adding cream and sugar for both of them. Then he sits down in a chair near Walker’s across from the settee. They sit in silence for several breaths, Hamilton’s cup clinking as he picks up the small spoon to stir and the faint sound of Walker blowing over the liquid in his cup. Laurens is reminded of several afternoons with his father – the feeling upon the back of his neck of unspoken words. Laurens wonders if he should have spoken to Hamilton of the nature of Walker and North's intimacy when he and Hamilton were afforded time alone. However, it is too late for such preparations now. Beside him, Hamilton takes a long sip of his tea and suddenly puts the cup down on the table with a clatter. The other three men all start in surprise at the noise.

“Gentlemen shall we skip this tension and game of make believe? You did not request our assistance solely for the completion of your duties?”

“We did not mislead you,” Walker says, his voice level. “The copies are required and your assistance needed.”

“But that is not the whole.” Hamilton holds up his cup. “The tea is evidence enough.”

“Do you dislike tea?” North says, his voice with a half-frantic edge.

“We said we wished for a different sort of interaction than in the past, did we not?” Walker says petulantly

“You did but you did not expand on such.”

“Hamilton,” Laurens chides in a hush, “Do not tease them.”

“How should I tease? I merely get to the point.” Hamilton looks back to Walker and North. “You wish to become more closely acquainted not just as fellow soldiers or party guests but because of the similarity of your personal relationship to that of our own.”

Laurens’ eyebrows shoot up along with Walker’s. North’s teacup rattles with the sudden seizing of his arms against his sides. Hamilton shoots a grin at Laurens as he takes a sip of his tea. Laurens remembers never to underestimate Alexander Hamilton.

Across from them, Walker recovers from Hamilton’s pointedness first. He places his cup back on the low table and crosses his legs. “And do you approve or not of this aim?”

Hamilton shrugs, drinks his tea once more to hide his smirk. He does not answer making the two men on the other side of the parlor shift in their seats. Laurens half wants to dump his own tea over Hamilton’s head and the other half simply kiss him.

“We do not mean to be seen forward or cause you any alarm of discovery,” North says, recovering his voice. “But, to have two others such as ourselves – so very similar, aides-de-camp to such important men, always an eye to such exposure but still given hours to work side by side –“

“Others who understand,” Laurens finishes for North.

North expression lights up. “Yes.”

“Such benefits and such restrictions.”

“Something so often scorned at.”

“Not by us.”

North shakes his head. “And the Baron is a generous and understanding man to be sure but still a superior and some years beyond our station and status.”

“You believe he understands less of your – our,” Laurens corrects, “situation?”

“I believe he understands less of it now,” Walker amends for North. “He is not a young man nor must he serve as we do.” Walker clears his throat, his face searching for delicacy. “You have been in a situation as ours for some time.”

Laurens and Hamilton glance at each other once then Laurens turns back to Walker with a nod.

Walker nods in return, picking up his tea again. “And that it is why it is in you we must find our example.”

Laurens laughs once. “Example? We are but two men and you think to base what off of us?”

Walker twists the handle of his teacup. “I do not mean to emulate you, if you should imply that. I only should…” He sighs once and takes another sip of his tea. “You are aware enough of how perilous and uneasy a situation such as our own can be for a man, even under the command of the Baron.”

Hamilton taps his teacup loudly on the table again so Walker jerks his head around. “What would you ask us?” Hamilton says. “You try to beat around something now. We are all aware of the dangers. We met here after we watched one such man’s humiliation. You do not need our guide for the fear of this, I should think.”

“That is not what I say,” Walker insists.

Laurens looks at Walker. “Then what do you ask?”

“How did you survive?” Laurens and Hamilton both tense – Laurens is unsure why – at the tone of North’s voice when he suddenly speaks. “It is not only the fear of discovery, and the knowledge of your actions and what most would say, or the possibility of a hangman’s noose.” Hamilton’s shoulder shifts just enough and Laurens’ one hand falls to fist beside Hamilton’s leg. North pushes on, his voice hushed and earnest. “It is not only that but it is a war, a war where we all must fight. Though we be aides-de-camp, it does not mean we are not upon the field. It does not mean we are not sent on missions through territory where there is no ensured safety. Other men may keep their women or wives secure at home, safe from bullet and bayonet. Not us.”

“William…”

North looks at Walker quickly then back to Laurens. “You were injured at Brandywine –“

Laurens frowns. “Hardly.”

“And Germantown.”

Laurens shuts his mouth as Hamilton tenses once more beside him. Laurens keeps his eyes on North. 

North turns toward Hamilton. “How then? How should you keep such fears at bay when we serve a cause which should put those most dear upon an altar?”

“North,” Walker says sharply, “we are not martyrs as that. You let your fears run wild.”

Laurens watches Hamilton stare at North out of the corner of his eyes. His breath remains steady and calm but his eyes appear sharp with the sight of something more – Laurens shot and feverish after Germantown, things Laurens did not see, as he was the object.

“No man is the same as another,” Laurens finally says drawing North’s eye. “Even we four here. You must remember your duty and our cause and decide what comes first.” North and Walker look at each other for a snap then back to Laurens. “You cannot change the battles, you may only fight them.”

“You may also remind yourself you wield a pen more often than a sword,” Hamilton says to North then his eyes turn toward Laurens. “And should it be a day of battle, find just where he rides upon the field so you may follow him or ride before him so none shall bring him harm and you both may win the day without a scratch or spot of blood of his own. You may remind him that he cannot fall upon the field because you would drag him back again and fight the reaper who may try to claim him. You must decide to change your fears to fearlessness just as he and treat the war as two fronts, the enemy and yourselves, so at least one shall always be won in your protection of each other.”

Laurens swallows carefully, feels Hamilton’s hand in his own now when Hamilton squeezes it. Laurens does not recall when their hands joined. He feels as though he should apologize, as if he should explain how he imagines just the same, how Hamilton is not a war but a pursuit, a passion, living a dream; and whenever they are on the field of battle he simply cannot allow the thought of Hamilton wounded as a possibility or he should fight against nothing else. Hamilton smiles slowly back at him and Laurens wonders if he knows this, knows everything Laurens thinks in each moment.

“And here I had hoped for levity?”

Laurens and Hamilton’s hands part as they suddenly laugh at Walker’s words, North joining a moment later clearly despite himself. Walker reaches across their chairs and rubs a hand over North’s arm. North gives him a look that could cross oceans.

“Levity you say?” Hamilton retorts. “I hear such talk of fear and doom and now you change to levity? Should I muster a joke or two to change the air?”

Walker huffs sliding his tea cup across the table. “Should I prefer bawdy or witty?”

“I can manage both.”

“Ah, but I would imagine witty more your preferred repartee.”

Hamilton raises both eyebrows. “If you know such why should you need to know us better, you have all your tools.”

Walker shakes his head. “No, indeed, I intended to hide from all your witticisms, I would find myself ill-suited for the task.”

“You do well now.”

“Only because I have North and Laurens to protect me should you choose to change to real barbs. I have heard you wiling even to contradict his Excellency. How should I fare?”

“Perhaps I shall take pity.”

“Do you have such as this every day with Hamilton?” North asks Laurens.

Laurens grins. “And night.”

North blushes hard so Hamilton elbows Laurens in the arm. Hamilton remains smiling, however. Laurens turns an innocent look on Hamilton then back to the two men across from him. North’s eyes tick to Walker. Walker smiles back at him, tapping a finger to his lips once. North smiles again, stands and picks up the teapot.

“More tea for we all I think!”

They remain another half hour, Hamilton’s wit peaked and Walker working his best to keep pace. Their humor delves into the real state of their army, daily woes of Valley Forge and the soon resumption of battle. They bare small truths – A first drawing for Hamilton and Laurens, a tree for Walker and North. Laurens leans closer to Hamilton, Hamilton’s fingers tracing his thigh while North taps his foot against Walkers and Walker’s hand spans their chair gap every so often to fix an errant hair on North. Laurens feels at ease, something less in his shoulders. He does not think beyond the room for a short time and it is something different, something he will remember the feel of in the back of his mind forever.

Then a door near the rear of the house makes a noise, voices rising up, the German of the Baron the most distinct.

“We should return ourselves to the office,” Walker says, standing up and quickly gathering their now empty cups. “Might I implore you to gather up the manual?”

“Of course,” Hamilton replies, pulling quills into hand.

North helps Walker put all the cups back on the tray as Walker turns out of the parlor once more. Hamilton gathers up a first batch of quills and ink and walks them back into the office. Laurens begins to order the piles of papers, keeping the similar handwriting together in favor of page numbers this time. North stands beside him, handing him the last blank sheets. Then North picks up the piece of paper wedged between the cushions. He stops, looking down at the drawing Laurens began. Laurens pauses, watching North’s face. Then North looks up at him and holds out the drawing.

“I believe I may have been wrong in my fears of our state here. Here, I think, it is better.”

Laurens takes the drawing back. “Better in the army and the fight as opposed to as life may usually be, you should mean?”

North nods. “Were we at peace, in the assembly or at the law, a wife should be expected, children… but here instead I may be with him.”

Laurens breathes in slowly and nods back at North. He folds the drawing in half to hide in his jacket. “You should not wish those things after the war?”

North makes a troubled face. “I believe I should be expected to want them.”

“But you do not.”

North looks up at Laurens then. “I want him.”

“Come now.” Laurens and North both turn to Hamilton as he hurries back into the room. “If we return the papers now perhaps the Baron shall not chide us all for losing such time on pleasures in his absence.”

North and Laurens look at each other over Hamilton’s head as he picks up the finished stack of the Baron’s manual. Then they follow after Hamilton with the blank pages into the office once more.

 

When Hamilton and Laurens leave some two hours later back to his Excellency’s headquarters, Hamilton walks close beside Laurens, their hands brushing. Laurens glances down at him as they walk, the air cool and the sun just finished setting. He hears the sounds of men around campfires, the whinny of a horse but pays more attention to the sound of Hamilton’s feet, the feeling of his shoulder bumping Laurens.

“It was worth the time,” Hamilton says.

“Which?” Laurens jokes. “The manual or the tea?”

Hamilton looks up at him with a grin. “The drawing.”

Laurens dips his head with a charmed smile and watches their feet move in time. They continue in silence, the drawing growing in Laurens mind with colors of sunlight he does not have yet to add.

“I hope Walker and North shall be well,” Hamilton suddenly says.

Laurens looks up at Hamilton again. “You have doubts?”

“Ah, I do not know them so well as to speculate but I hope we may have aided them some with our own experience.” He hops a ditch in the path and his voice pitches toward humor once more. “And perhaps I should not worry over them in either case. I have far more engaging thoughts to spend my time with.”

“Hmm,” Laurens says, his knuckles brushing Hamilton’s. “Let me imagine, organizing of all correspondence into crates, the planned march, oh no, exchange of prisoners still, that is most engaging.”

Hamilton smiles, his hand slipping around to grip Laurens’. “You cannot deter me into melancholy though I know you jest.”

“I would never.”

Hamilton pulls up Laurens’ hand and kisses his fingers. “My thoughts will always remain pleasant when you are their object.” Then he smiles, a sun in the night, slips his hand away and walks on ahead of Laurens.

Laurens breathes in deeply, watches Hamilton walk and turn a smile over his shoulder toward Laurens, then he follows Hamilton thinking of their stolen time, lips on his fingers and sunlight and a sleeping man against his arm.

**Author's Note:**

> This series is in the process of becoming a book, to keep up with the progress check out the book website [Duty and Inclination](https://www.dutyandinclination.com/) and my author [facebook page](https://www.facebook.com/DupontWrites).


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